


Deadlocked

by hazk



Series: Limbo [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flashbacks, Gen, Season/Series 15, Sequel to "Split", s15 e20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-03-14 16:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazk/pseuds/hazk
Summary: Instead of finding clarity, what Temple was left with was blood on the ground and a pair of hands he couldn't stop from shaking.





	1. Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Starts immediately after “Split”.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a Schrödinger’s pile of orange waste, and you have a decision to make.”

Dexter Grif’s blood began to spread through the cracks on the floor, reaching for his feet. Temple couldn’t back away.

It felt like forever ago since he had first turned his back to the lair and the cells, having allowed himself a moment to, again, compare the Red to a friend long dead. Ever since then, Temple had thought Grif's existence alone to be an insult.

There was no other way to describe seeing someone so useless and _wrong_ play the part of a saviour, royally fucking it all up for everyone in the process.

But even then, the part of Temple considering these things had been quick to bring up whether or not he would have been happier with the way it had gone if Dexter Grif had been more determined to prove his worth. If there had been a little more of a challenge, would Temple have been able to forgive at least some aspect of the role he had had in everything.

Now there was no way to know.

All Temple had was a splash of red against the familiar shade of orange, along with a shattered visor.

There had been more of a kick than expected and even his aim had been more accurate than he had intended for it to be, he realised with bile rising to his throat. He couldn’t will his body to move, not even his eyes.

The gunshot still echoed in the warehouse, swallowing every other sound and making him forget the earlier hurry that had led to this. Everything might have once been brought to a standstill, but it had been Temple who had made the final move.

There was no reason for him to stall now.

The feeling of choking was swept away when he finally lifted his arms as if to a silent clap and celebration, a forced grin splitting his face in half. Temple burst into a laugh, his palms clenching as he felt himself beginning to fold forward by the force of his wheezing. He couldn’t believe the relief that washed over him.

Ten long seconds after the body had hit the floor, Temple came to a conclusion.

There was a reason for the way it had ended, and only one way it could be described –

Temple had won.

 

* * *

* * *

 

There was clarity to the way he was preparing to present himself, after entering the control room and seeing the mess of a situation that had taken over in his absence.

For a moment longer, Temple stick to the shadows, only watching as Tucker and the rest screamed on and on about there being no off switch to the so-called doomsday device. Dylan walked around the machine with a contemplative mumble under her breath and Jax ran after her with each of his plans more outlandish than the last.

Soon enough, Sarge entered to join the group and the sight of him did leave Temple with a brief moment of disappointment, seeing just how quickly his hold had let off of the man. But there was one thing not one of them could avoid now, a power that had been behind Temple’s confidence for so long.

The Reds and Blues were weak, weaker than the Freelancers Temple prided himself for having killed with such ease, and now the group of idiots had practically turned themselves in to him.

It was ridiculously easy, watching as a smooth press of a button made the room become still with Temple just leaning against the doorway. The belated reactions of shock that took over were as ridiculous as always, making him chuckle under his breath.

“Son of a –!”

“I can’t move! _FUCK!_ ”

“Wait, is Temple –!”

But there was an anomaly in the room, Temple noted, just as he was about to step in to take his rightful spotlight. Caboose, of course, was a special case that he shouldn’t just forget about. He knew better by now.

Using the shadows and the turned backs of the frozen troopers to his advantage, Temple sneaked inside the room. His newly found breathless sense of self, or the numbing lack of it, was exhilarating in how it now pushed him forward.

There was a trail of drying blood flaking off of his armoured boots and Temple didn’t mind.

 

* * *

 

With a pistol pointed at Caboose’s skull, his hand not wavering even when the reporter tried to make some snide remark, Temple gestured for Loco to step forward. The Blue looked confused, cradling the batteries in his hand and further proving that there was no trusting him to see the truth behind their enemy.

“Now then", Temple said, stood by Caboose's side. "This day, is beautiful –“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Tucker yelled before Temple could even attempt to share his cheer with his audience. “AND LET HIM GO!”

Temple tilted his head, left and right, cracking his neck in the progress. Caboose tried to speak and Temple was reflexive in knocking some sense into him with the muzzle of his trusty pistol, relishing the hiss Tucker and the others around made at the sight.

Loco was whining behind his back and Temple snorted. Sadly, this was the one situation where a kill would not make it any better, _and more silent_ , considering the screaming match that would then follow.

But even one hostage was enough to keep all those still capable of moving, namely the reporters and Loco, out of his way. Now there was just the finale left for him to perform.

Temple had chosen to go with something a little different than originally planned, all thanks to his, _him_ , it was the newfound –

_Blood by his boots and the pistol that was –_

Temple swallowed and sharply shook his head clear, the movement hidden with a grating laugh.

“It is pleasant, so overly pleasant to have you here, my friends”, Temple tried again, and this time he was met with silence as he threw his left arm across Caboose’s shoulders and pulled his height down to his level; the button by the Blue’s neck and the pistol point-blank to the side of his face. “I didn’t think it would be, but what show can be called a spectacular without a tribute to those who have made it all possible!”

“You’re so fucking insane that it’s not even funny anymore…”

“Was it ever?” Temple said, and after a second long pause burst into a laugh. He pointed at Tucker. “Oh, no, I take that back! The way you played straight into my hand was pretty damn good!”

“Temple, you need to listen to us”, Dylan went to interrupt. She took a short step forward, careful and with her hands held high in a gesture that made Temple's grin twitch with its familiarity. “You don’t realise the impact of what you are doing here.”

“Ah, _no –_ “, Temple’s grip on the pistol remained strong, “– I think it might be you, _Andrews_ , who doesn’t know what’s for the best. Shut your mouth, _please_.”

The strength with which Dylan grit her teeth could be heard in the tense silence that followed. Temple couldn’t have been happier. He chuckled under his breath, and then -

 

_Thump._

 

The moment was broken with the soft sound of something hitting the ground behind him. Temple's body clenched as he immediately spun Caboose and himself around, pointing the pistol in the direction of the sound.

He blinked as he saw a rope dangle by their side, its loose end having hit the floor and now limply laying there.

Temple’s eyes followed the rope upwards to a ledge near the ceiling, and he barely even registered Sarge’s guffawing laughter as he took in the sight.

Maroon armour – _not orange, not orange_ – greeted him, with a rifle raised and pointed at Temple. The man's breath hitched at being found out.

"U-uhm…"

“Get him, Simmons!” Tucker yelled. “What are you waiting for!”

But Tucker’s voice was wavering, seeing as there was no way Simmons could actually do anything unless he disregarded Caboose in the way. Aware of this, Temple didn’t make a sound. He stared straight past the weapon aimed at him, the maroon armour twitching as Simmons took in steadying breaths and kept his stance.

Dylan’s body grew rigid as she went to lunge forward, the noises of her advance covered by Sarge’s sudden yell:

“Simmons, I order you to –!“

Smoothly, Temple turned his back to Simmons, his attention entirely at the Red Colonel now. Dylan’s dash came to a halt before it could even properly begin, Temple not paying her any mind as he tapped Caboose's helmet twice with the pistol, making the loud clanks echo.

Temple didn’t say anything as he first took in the scene, but, when he finally did open his mouth, a laugh rang out from behind him.

“Sarge… Don't tell me you don’t even recognise your _own_ subordinates?”

Sarge didn't reply.

Neither did anyone else.

Snorting, Gene flopped to sit down on the edge above them. The rifle was on his lap and his laughter echoed loudly in the sound of nothing but the machines whirring in the background.

Temple burst into a squeaking laugh of his own.

“O-oh, _oh man!_ Wish I could see your faces, your expressions really got to be something else!”

Temple’s head cocked back and his laugh swallowed Gene’s without a problem, as unhinged as he sounded in that moment of realisation settling heavy on the chests of his audience.

“ _Ooooh!_ What a heart-breaking revelation! What, you want the fatass in orange to walk through the door next, _huh_ , want him to save the day _again?_ Don’t you think that would be a little, you know… Let's have something new for a change! Gene, thanks for that. Made my day!”

With a few more chuckles in between, Temple struggled to catch his breath.

“Temple”, Gene said after he had managed to calm down as well. The level of glee in his voice took Temple by surprise and, with a slow crane of his neck, he turned back to the Red. He was actually curious to hear what he had to say – _what a twist._

“Yes?”

“Just so you know…” Gene chuckled, his voice identical to Simmons’ and only adding to the pressure building up in the room. “I met a few people on my way over…”

“Hmmm.”

Temple tilted his head and thought about it. If Gene meant anyone affiliated with the Reds and Blues, there were very few people missing coming to mind.

There was the _obvious_ , and then there were the Freelancers – if they had still been alive and freed from their coffin, they could have been loitering around as well. But considering the condition they must have been in by now, even Gene wouldn't have had a problem with them.

“Ah… Carolina…”

“Right”, Gene said. With keen interest, he studied the ripple effect of audible reactions his words had caused. “Carolina and the…  purple one. They won’t be making another appearance, either, so…”

Briefly, Temple pondered on how little he actually cared. Carolina should have been his main target and at any other time he would have screamed at Gene for making such an important move without telling him first.

But now Temple didn’t even feel like asking just what had gone down between them.

“That’s good, excellent”, Temple said and patted Caboose’s shoulder with mock reassurance. The move earned him yet another set of curses from Tucker, to his great delight.

The machine behind his back was pulsating with its bright, blue light with more frequency now. Dylan took another step forward.

“Temple –!“

“ _ANDREWS!_ ”

Temple’s screech cut through the echoing space and his helmet snapped back at her with its blank stare. His arm around Caboose tightened.

“What did I say _; what did I SAY!_ ”

Dylan stance remained strong but she took in a sharp breath. Standing behind her, Jax had his hands clenched into fists and a random litany of words fell from his lips.

“Temple…” Dylan tried again before taking in a few more steadying breaths. Her arms were back in the air and they didn't waver any more than Temple’s hold on the pistol, held against Caboose’s head, did.

“Will you let me explain what I know about the… drill.” Dylan gestured at the collection of wires and screens flashing dangerously behind Temple’s back, enveloping him into the endless collage of shadows it created.

Temple didn’t move. His words were laced with feigned kindness, overly pleased at her show of restraint:

“You may.”

And Dylan did take the chance, as quickly as possible with the lights growing brighter and the ground beginning to shake ever so slightly – and Temple, he did hear exactly what she had to say. It just changed nothing.

“You don’t understand”, Dylan forced out through her teeth, her anger beginning to rise as she found herself unable to get the point across. “It won’t just destroy the UNSC, or everyone on this island – the entire planet will be done for, for the sake of your revenge. You will gain nothing, you will be a, a –”

Temple tilted his head, holding back a chuckle.

“If that’s what you say, I suppose there is absolutely _no reason_ why you wouldn’t be telling the truth!” With flourish, Temple turned to look up at the ledge Gene was sitting on, with his leg bleeding droplets of red onto the ground floor. “Better end the plan and move on with our lives, huh?”

Gene glanced at him with a crude laugh, gripping a knife in his hand. “Can’t wait… So much to look forward to.”

Temple's eyes darted to the pool of blood gathering on the floor, his head tilting as he nodded to himself. He let out a short laugh before swirling around again.

“But honestly! What you are telling me hardly even matters, _Andrews_.”

The reporter kept staring at Temple, still determined to make him think, stall, anything.

“Killing the human race doesn’t matter? Didn’t you sign up to protect us from complete annihilation? You can't _want_ to do the opposite now… Temple, this is your chance. You can still face the UNSC through the legal means – believe me, there are more than just you after them, for reasons big enough to get you somewhere.”

“A little late for that, yes? Seeing what we have already done, they can do so much more than simply lock us up to not make it any more uncomfortable for their image”, Temple retorted with a cheerful tone. “And I must repeat – _it’s fine_. This is fine! I have faith in what Loco has built for me!”

“You… can’t be serious”, Dylan said, with the utter disappointment she must have been feeling dripping off of her words. She took in another heavy breath, having to mentally prepare herself for what she tried next:

"Temple. What would he, what would _Biff -_ "

Temple crushed Caboose's tall frame even closer to his side, and laughed as Dylan immediately fell silent in alarm. Temple nodded his head approvingly to show the decision had been the right one to make, shaking Caboose by his shoulder a little before allowing him to stand up straighter.

“Either way, I will be the one to have my way and you just have to accept that! There is nothing else you can do; just give in already.”

“You’re the one at a disadvantage”, Tucker said with a forced laugh. “Looking at what's left of your team, you don’t have much to work with.”

Temple deadpanned, looking up at Caboose. The other team had no moves left to play, it seemed, and it was starting to get boring.

Thankfully, Temple knew exactly how to fix that.

“Two – well, _three_ – left is plenty, I do think, when there’s already a drill in place, up and running; and no one left to stop me”, Temple replied just a smoothly, complete with a snort and a dismissive wave of his hand. “And the difference between us is that I am more than fine with the turn the events have taken.”

Tucker scoffed. “The fuck?”

“You could say that I am done _'caring'_ – but you, clearly, are not”, Temple explained and his voice dropped at the choice of words. It didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, and it brought their full focus on what Temple said next:

“Not counting whatever happened with Carolina… You are missing two of your men, and so far only one of them is dead for certain.”

In a manner much more controlled than his cheer up until that point, Temple turned to Gene who had continued to watch the scene from above.

“Right, Gene?”

Temple’s voice was woven with certainty, almost painfully so. Gene nodded.

Everyone watching had their eyes drawn in by the bloodied knife Gene was now waving their way, recognition audibly dawning on a few of them.

“Great!”

Not waiting for any more of the pointless curses coming his way, Temple turned back to the others. He caught the shift in their mentality with an immediate return and updraft of his own glee. “There you have it!”

“You mean to tell me both _Simmons and_ _Grif are –!“_ , Sarge began, but was immediately interrupted by Temple waving his arms as if attempting to reign the situation straight back in.

“Simmons is gone, Super Colonel! Just let it go! _And_ _Grif?_ I shot him, for sure. Maybe killed him, too, but didn’t stop by to check… _Sorry_ , my bad!”

Temple’s laugh was loud and playful, but the strain to it was what was hurting their ears. Dylan’s shoulders hunched up, as if in realisation.

Temple ignored her; not for a second would he let her think _she knew him._

"What the hell do you even want from us?!” Tucker growled before Sarge could set off, seeing the way his breath was hitching with anger held back only by his frozen body. “You’re gaining nothing here, just wasting your time! And ours too, honestly!”

“Oh…” Temple huffed but it was clear that his smile had grown impossibly wide by now. “Let me rephrase, then… It’s a Schrödinger’s pile of orange waste, and you have a decision to make.”

The room grew quiet, the Reds and Blues glaring at Temple who was still waving the controller around without a care in the world.

“With what I have already told you…” Dylan said to break the silence before the rest of the team could, her voice cold yet showing she did believe whatever point Temple was attempting to make:

"You can’t possibly be speaking of exchanging one life for the _entirety of Earth_.”

“Hm.”

Temple tapped the chin of his helmet with the pistol and then gestured at the machine behind him with the button in his other hand. “That depends on if you actually believe in this being a death machine. But I feel like you are missing the point, still…”

“ _Which is?”_ Sarge asked, his voice low and grating. Temple was more than happy to turn away from Dylan to address him instead.

“Your choice isn’t about stopping the machine! It’s not even about making it out of this one alive, as long as I have my way… And please, _do understand_ , I have no intention of ever underestimating you again”, Temple replied. He glanced up at Gene who had finally tied up his bleeding leg and was fumbling his way down to them.

“Then what?” Tucker said begrudgingly and the vehemence in his voice ran deep. “Doesn’t sound too good of a deal if you ask me…”

Temple let out a laugh and brought the button he was holding closer to Caboose’s face, just to further piss off Tucker for not being able to do a thing about it.

“But it is so, so _beautifully_ simple!” Temple exclaimed and at this point his grin was perfectly audible. “You have already escaped a locked room once, want to try it again? And, in turn… If you somehow happen to make it, the answer to my hypothetical will be waiting for you on the other side of the door, along with your Blue friend here.”

They were more than aware what Temple was capable of, especially when it came to those words.

Tucker glared at him.

“…fuck you.”

Temple couldn’t have felt more pleased with the way the unmoving soldiers before him still, somehow, managed to look like they were faltering at his feet when his words began to sink in. Same as with the Freelancers he had caught throughout the years, this show of power was everything he could have ever asked for.

The flashing lights covered them, its tendrils making the space both bright and suffocatingly enclosed by not letting them forget what was at stake.

“Of course, you can always stick around and try to save what you can if you _truly believe_ me to be a danger to our dear, dear home planet! Certainly! But, frozen in place as you are, you must have noticed how useless it is by now…” Temple continued to further make his point undeniable.

He cocked his head back, smirking to himself:

“It's not like I am asking you to stay here with me, for this so called end of the world.”

 

* * *

 

Temple hadn’t expected himself to ever ask for something like this, and it was with an odd sense of absolute control he had Loco find a way to delay the drill’s functions to buy them, _him_ , a little more time.

Maybe there wasn’t a good reason for him to do so, but some things were for certain:

Temple was the one to choose when the UNSC's end arrived, and he was not in a hurry to do so _just now_. And he certainly wasn’t second-guessing his decision, either.

“B-but… Friends, best friends, should be able to say goodb–“, Loco had tried to say as he and Caboose were being dragged away from the machine, but Temple’s hold on his shoulder had been enough to get him to sadly shut his mouth.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Temple had snorted, the familiar breathless laugh itching at the back of his throat.

 

* * *

 

As fast as they could, Temple and Gene had the reporters, leftover simulation troopers and the Reds and Blues escorted out of the building. The finale was just about to begin on the planet they were leaving behind, and there was no one left to stop it.

“…now then.”

Turning swiftly, back towards the building, Temple began to move. Passing by Gene, he carelessly threw the button to him.

“You know what to do.”

The maroon soldier simply nodded his head and began to limp his way back to the ship, which Temple was leaving him in charge of. Gene's smile was wide, only made more prominent by the painful aching of his ruined leg.

Save to say, Gene wasn’t as fond of following the orders he had been given as Temple might have thought him to be.

But it’s not like Temple cared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limbo of no control, no progress, no improvement; a vivid memory of a home there is no returning to.


	2. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You couldn’t just make this any easier for me, now could you?”

The door, the door, _the door –_

The fucking door had been everything Loco had cared about, which was not to say that was a problem.

Temple had asked for a bomb and, as long as it worked, he couldn’t have cared less if there was some freaky door with doomsday implications attached to the fucking thing. It’s not like Loco was one for inherently bad intentions and backstabbing, and Temple seriously did not doubt the kid’s skill when it came to delivering whatever he asked for.

Temple knew it was a package deal, with Loco always giving way more than the bare minimum of what you were expecting. And that’s what he was betting everything on.

Maybe _Dylan and friends_ were telling the truth, maybe the world was about to blow into pieces –

Maybe it should have bothered him more that, if true, it was all _his_ doing.

Instead of taking any of that into consideration, though, Temple headed for the warehouse.

With a four feet long trolley in tow, he only had eyes for the final countdown of his revenge and the revelation of whatever present Loco might have given him. No matter what he was about to witness, all he knew was that it would do no good to see it all on his own.

It needed to be shared; with a very specific audience that those Temple had sent away were not to be a part of.

_“Friends, best friends, should be able to say goodbye.“_

 

* * *

 

It took longer this time. So much longer.

Some part of Temple’s flailing, screaming consciousness told him to turn on his heels and run. Any direction was fine, any other direction would have been _better –_

Time was running out for more reasons than one and still, here he was; back in the darkness of a room he had barely managed to turn his back to once. The irrational fear caught up to Temple’s mind and made his hands shake again, his gloved palms clinging on the trolley’s handle as he thought he probably wouldn’t be able to run even if he were to allow himself the attempt.

Could he really do even the opposite, he realised, taking the last steps to reach the doorway and point of no return.

Could he really do this, when he was supposed to take _the thing_ he wanted to run away from back out with him.

They were both meant to step back to that flickering light, which would let Temple see the remains; see the dirtied, dark splatters that made his throat wheeze and his lungs shut down in a fit of panic.

His mind continued to tell him to run, to get away, to curl up in the corner and close his eyes. But his jaw squared.

 _Don’t look if you can’t handle it,_ Temple could imagine the terrified part of him try to talk him out of it, begging him to give up with a voice that wasn’t even his. He didn’t listen, shut it down and forced out a squeaking chuckle instead.

Temple stepped forward, pulled his stiff fingers loose from the trolley's handle, one by one, before he reached for the doorframe. With eyes shuts tight, he fumbled alongside the wall until he found what he was looking for: the switch.

One breath later, the switch had been turned and the lights began to flicker. Power surges from the drill, bomb, _end of the world_ , made the bulbs shutter more than usual, but it was a suitable delay in a sense.

Temple forced his eyes open and saw his own shadow flash against the cracked floor. Slowly he allowed his eyes to adjust to the rhythm, gaze following the distorted form of his reflection across the room.

There were the familiar tendrils of darkness combined with blinding brightness, which his visor would have balanced out if only he had still been wearing his helmet. But he wasn’t.

With nothing to cover his face, Temple was left to breathe in the stale, coppery stench of the room. He had been ready to throw up long before his eyes even had the chance to settle on the burned out crimson that clashed against the brightness that was Dexter Grif.

Temple swallowed at the sight, his entire body twitching with its reflexive attempt to turn around and leave.

With almost artificial movement to his limbs, Temple reached for the trolley with a hold painfully tight. A grin was pulling the corners of his lips ever upwards as he took the scene in. Without a hitch in his breath, Temple let go of the trolley again only to lift his palms to his cheeks to force himself to take a second to calm down.

It took effort, but Temple managed to bite down on his lip to keep his smile from stretching further in its already achingly wide sneer. He had to focus only on the task he had chosen for himself.

Two more breaths and he would move; one more taken after that.

 

* * *

 

Temple had never exactly considered himself a liar, in one sense of the word – the role had later been reserved by Biff, and the two of them were sure to complete each other since the early days of their childhood. But this today was one of those truly selfish lies Temple would never feel bad for having made, he thought as he stood above the pool of blood.

He knew that the Reds and Blues would never escape the game Gene was going to present them with, meaning that there was no fear of them finding out that Temple hadn’t told them the truth; the orange mess by his feet had stayed behind, to take its place as the only witness Temple needed for whatever came next.

Even if they did somehow escape, they were no longer Temple’s to worry about. And neither was Grif.

He was done with the matters more complicated, simply preparing to wait in the relative silence of his newly found solitude. Whatever happened was meant for him, and who he shared it with was his choice as well.

Temple didn’t want to be alone.

He wasn't going to be alone.

The familiarity of orange armour by his side might help him feel even more at peace with himself, to remind him _why_ this all had to happen the way it had.

“You couldn’t just make this any easier for me, now could you?”

Temple snorted at hearing his own voice cut through the stale air. The way his words lacked life as they scratched at his throat was very reminiscent of days long gone.

There was familiarity in speaking to a dead man, too, and he took whatever comfort he could get from the idea.

“Just to make it clear; you’re the one who got into my face and left me with no other choice. Get it? You had all the chances to live a useless life instead.”

Temple bit his lip to not let the smile, smirk, snarl take over his features again. His eyes kept looking at anything but the ground and the armour, with his mind still attempting to helplessly scramble for other explanations for what he was doing.

The blood had dried but the smell of copper continued to make him feel dizzy; it wasn’t without gagging that he finally managed to lift the armour upwards. With effort he had no choice but to make, he pulled the armour back, making it lean against the shelves before stepping away for a second.

Looking away from its slumped state, the visual burned into his mind well enough for unnecessary feeling to threaten to take over, Temple forced out yet another chuckle.

“And”, Temple continued, taking another breath before reaching forward to continue with his task, “I did ask you to join us and everything! So, you don’t have the right to –“

“– give me that look!”

“What…? What ‘look’?”

“Come on!”

Biff snorted and, seeing the chance and taking it, threw the car keys at his friend's face. Temple crouched back in surprise, and would deny the way he yelped as the projectile made it his way.

Barely able to catch the keys by their chain, Temple cursed. He fumbled with them for a second too long as he then straightened, making Biff give him _that look_ again.

“Don’t…” Temple groaned and Biff could only smirk.

“I won’t! Just, get the boxes to the car and be useful, I wouldn’t have asked for help if I didn’t trust you with that much at least…”

“Sure thing, boss…” Taking the out and moving on, Temple turned to the first of the boxes and glared at the pile of books in it. With difficulty, he pulled the box to his side, inching it towards the door. “You really want to take all this crap with you?”

Biff blinked, glancing at Temple with a nonchalant shrug before turning his eyes back at the packing.

“Hey, it’s not like I have any plans on coming back here”, Biff said and Temple didn’t miss the way his brow twitched at the statement, discomfort obvious. “Might as well stuff the dorm full with all I can fit.”

“You know we’ll be sharing the space, right? And it’s… It’s not a fucking mansion or something…” Temple said, not sure if he should actually complain seeing as he did actually understand his friend’s need to just run away and never look back.

“Yeah, yeah…” Biff waved a hand at him dismissively. “I’ll pay it back to you, and it’s not like _you_ own shit.”

“Said as if being materialistic is a good thing”, Temple scoffed and finally stood up straight with the box in his arms, the car keys balanced on top of the pile.

Ignoring the smirk Biff was biting down, Temple almost folded under the weight of the books but held on strong, just to avoid any more jokes on expense of his so-called inability to keep things functional for longer than a week after purchase. That said, it did make it a bit of a surprise Biff had given him the keys in the first place; which Temple would obviously, also, deny.

"And!" Temple turned to leave the room, grunting under his breath. "I would be a hell of a lot less cranky if you didn’t –“

“– weigh a ton, fuck!” Temple threw his head back and dropped the orange armour onto the trolley with a loud clank, metal scraping against metal. “Fucking hell!”

His muscles screamed as he straightened with deep breaths in between his curses, shaking his arms to get rid of at least some of the burning sensation. There was no time to waste with this.

Temple walked around the trolley and took a hold of the handle with another deep breath, not looking down at the deadweight he was taking with him. It took a little bit of a push to get the trolley on its way again, the additional weight locking it to the ground and not allowing it to bounce the way it had earlier.

“I had a very clear goal, you know?"

There was no way to cover for the way the metal kept screeching as they went on their way, the similarly sharp thuds infiltrating Temple’s ears. Ever so slightly, the stench of blood was dissipating as the trolley was guided out of the warehouse and to a more open space.

"You don’t get this far if you don’t choose to go all out… Never look back and all that bullshit.”

Temple listened to the words that fell from his lips in an uncontrolled manner. He just had to fill the space with something, the words lacking of meaning. He had always loved his voice, along with his ability to keep talking through any situation.

It had saved him, in ways.

Temple could remember the nights he had spent rambling on and on, abandoned in the fields of sand and knowing no living being would ever be able to fill the space he had found himself screaming at. It appeared to have been the truth, he now thought with a soft snort.

“I made it this far”, Temple said as they closed in on the main room and the machine that was once more picking up the rest of the building’s energy for its final strike. “And I am, _I will_ , enjoy every second.”

Temple stopped by the doorway and looked around, now a little more easily letting the trolley stay behind as he then hurried back down the hall again. He studied one of the control panels for a second, finding a way to turn off all additional lights that might have still been on in this part of the facility.

With that done, he hurried back to his company and rushed the two of them inside to finish with his preparations.

“ _’Gain nothing’_ , Andrews said, as if that wasn’t the point”, Temple kept talking, stopping the trolley by the wall opposite of the machine. He straightened his posture once more. “But it will be beautiful, to know I am not the only one to –“

Sharply, Temple crouched, crumbled, down by the trolley, snapping his mouth shut. For the first time, he allowed his eyes to look over to the armour in front of him. He couldn’t look away now, he had to look straight at the visor and see the damage for what it was.

_“You will gain nothing, you will be –“_

“I know exactly what that makes me –”, Temple smiled, now reaching forward with steady hands. “– in your eyes, at least.”

For a second, he let his hands hover over the armour, orange clashing against the blacks and blues of his gloves. With some difficulty, he then dragged the armour off the trolley to place it where it belonged and positioning its form in a familiar manner.

Not once did Temple blink, forcing himself to accept every detail of what he was doing here.

“I’m pretty fucked up, aren’t I? Well, you did say the same”, Temple stated, his eyes stinging from the effort he was making as he smiled. “No lies there –“

“– as far as I can tell…”

“Like you knew how to read people! Dude, you’re, well – let’s just say, _you’re lucky to have me_.”

“H-hu–?” Temple stood back and threw a hand to his chest to really show off his shock. “Oh? Oh, _really?_ ”

Biff lifted a brow at him, his arms crossed but his smirk nowhere near hidden. “Mark… You almost got beat up on the parking lot, _of the grocery store_ , for thinking someone, somehow, was personally after you for taking the parking space you’ve used, like, never before –“

“Hey! You know the guy as well as I do, and fuck if it had anything to do with _the parking!_ Jones has been at my throat for, what, since middle school?! Pretty fair of a reason to –“

“– get your nose broken because he’s twice your size and had no reason to go any further than that, thankfully, since he _didn’t even want to fight you in the first place_ ”, Biff finished, leaving Temple with his own arms crossed and a glare on his face, although the look was directed through the window and to the backyard instead of his friend.

“Just saying”, Biff added with a laugh. “You don’t know people for shit.”

“…like you’re any better”, Temple scoffed, and then thought back on the aforementioned fight only a few days earlier, his nose stinging under the bandages. He could have taken Jones on, _he could have_ – but that doesn’t mean he was all that mad for being saved the trouble, what with Biff stepping up and telling Jones that Temple had just had a bad day, no reason to get any more violent than that.

Which hadn’t been a lie, either.

There was a pause that lasted a little too long for Temple’s liking, making him drop the memory and glance Biff’s way just as his friend replied with a silent:

“True.”

Biff turned away from Temple, leaving him stare at his back and remember just what they had been talking about in the first place. Screw Temple’s cousin’s opinion on his future plans, there were bigger problems here –

“Uh… Okay, so…” Temple spoke out, running a hand through his hair and belatedly realising he would have to cut it soon; they both would. “Are… Are _you_ really fine with –“

“– the way it is… But _this_ isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Temple walked up to the machine and checked the readings for one more time, glancing back at the radio and attempting to put on even the pretence of relaxation. No one was coming; no one left, _who might have still had an idea of his intention,_  could get to him in time.

It hadn’t been long at all since Gene took off and it was laughable how slowly time seemed to have passed throughout Temple’s rush to move the pieces in their new positions.

“The Reds and Blues will still be blamed for everything, I have made sure of that… And I didn’t plan on them being _here_ in the first place, so, it was all meant to be… _relatively_ … controlled, sure”, Temple continued on as he thought and thought on just how he had once imagine this day to be and feel like, since all those years ago.

It had been almost a decade since Biff had died. Only under an hour since Grif had.

“I planned on laughing.”

Temple backed away from the machine as a sharp flash of electricity attempted to take a hold of his fingers, attracted by the layers of metal he was wearing.

“I planned on… feeling relieved when it was all done. Ah… Not that I think this –“, Temple gestured at the machine, turning his back to it as he went to walk to the centre of the room, “– will be _the end_. I’m not that delusional.”

Temple glanced up at the armour that appeared so bright even now, with the slashing shades of blue from the drill almost desperately reaching for it. He tilted his head at the sight, a hand raised to his chin before spinning around again.

The room was wide and empty except for the two of them and the machine, and Temple had to take in the fact that, although not exactly what he had had in mind, this moment was incredible.

“I wonder…” Temple mumbled in a manner almost speechless, his smile back and pulling at his cheeks. He sat down on the ground, holding his knees close and slumping forward as if to watch a campfire instead of a bomb meant to wipe out thousands upon thousands of lives.

“I do wonder…”

The sight was captivating.

The lights were impossibly bright and blinding but he couldn’t look away, focusing fully on the way they pulsated with clarity and purpose in the otherwise darkened space. There had been two reasons for the decision to turn off all the other lights he could, one for the dramatic flair still close to his heart and another to ensure he could see only that which truly mattered.

The shadows swallowed the orange armour by his side, hiding the dark stains and cracks to make it look less like a lifeless doll, a grotesque joke, and more like an actual memory. And not even one of the bad ones even if that had been the plan, Temple thought with the ever-painful smirk growing just as the drill, once more, began to shake the ground underneath them.

“Just how will it go…?”

Temple’s smile grew just a little wider still, and his eyes began to sting as he stared at the lights. Tearing his gaze away, he glanced at the orange armour that the flashes were making look a little more alive with each second. He could swear he saw it breathing, the pieces being moved by the steady rhythm of the drill in a way that made Temple let out a cheerful sigh.

“It better be spectacular, yeah?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limbo of no control, no progress, no improvement; the enticing warmth of a fire made with a splash of red against yellow.


	3. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We could run?”

“We're here to do our part.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it, though”, Biff pointed out, and not for the first time in the months it had taken for them to get even this far. Temple replied with a nonchalant shrug and raised his chin, all too ready for the basic training waiting for them next.

As if.

“Well, _yeah_ , but what else is there? Even if we don’t do this, we’re as good as dead anyway”, Temple said as they stood there, the silence of the room breaking Biff into nervous sweat. Temple ignored the sight of his best friend and his trembling hands, just as he ignored the way their looks were perfectly matched in that moment.

“Not necessarily, and you know that… Jackass”, Biff mumbled and Temple tried not to think about it; think about the way Biff had looked at him when he had first mentioned the idea of signing up for this bullshit of a war.

Biff had said he agreed, even if he had looked like he was on the edge of throwing up – and still, months later, there was that same green shade to him, no matter how much he tried to hide it. But Temple hadn’t forced him to follow after him, and it’s not like Temple didn’t have that exact same tinge of colour crossing over his own pale cheeks.

They didn’t have to do everything together, and they didn’t have to be here, either. That’s what Biff thought, and Temple didn’t exactly disagree.

Just what could they do to help humanity? Something Temple’s older cousin couldn’t before he had died, just like so many others already had and still would?

Everyone said there was nothing to be done; leave it to those with a plan; those with the devotion; the skill; the money; the power; just don’t go, _not by choice_ –

Temple was an idiot and Biff knew as much, and still he was here. They were both just as bad, then; a couple of jackasses.

Right? Right.

Yes.

“We could run?” Temple said to break through his thoughts, to distract himself from the panic he could feel beginning to build up at the promise of what was waiting for them. Even with the playful tilt he managed to add to his voice, he knew he wasn’t kidding.

Biff’s eyes hardened; he knew, as well. “Don’t even try.”

“What?”

“I would”, Biff went on to say and Temple couldn’t stop from turning to look at his friend with wide eyes. “I so would. Run. Right now. But they won't let me.”

“You…” Temple glanced around them, the room empty and the signed papers already carried off by the receptionist whose return they were waiting for, to hear the next step to selling themselves off. “Why didn’t –“

“– I know!”

Temple wasn’t expecting the yell forcing itself out of his throat, the silence of his own making falling short at the interruption. His back straightened in shock and he blinked, confused by what he had even meant by the scream.

With an offset sense of embarrassment coming a little too late he glanced around, comically making sure no one had heard him. The armour appeared to tilt its head in question at seeing this, though, almost as if to mock the man who had rendered it to its current, bloodied state.

“What?” Temple asked. His grin had returned immediately when the armour caught his eye, only managing in further proving its point. He was losing it, he knew he was losing it, and it really was a relief to allow that to be the case with only one presence around to watch him fall.

“Got anything to add? Any hopes for what’s next, any expectations of your own, hmm?” Temple cracked to ramble on, searching for another distraction he needed from himself. The machine grunted behind him and made him snort, his head cocked back as he attempted to relax in his own skin again.

He couldn't see much with how bright the lights had become, and neither could he properly make out even his own voice through the screams of the drill.

“Heeey, Grif”, Temple sing-songed, and the name tasted sour on his tongue although he didn’t stop to think on why. “What were your last words, do you remember? I don’t, I don’t think I do…”

Temple frowned at the question, thinking on it for a second longer. “Not that it matters”, he then added with a thoughtful hum to his breath, just to make sure the armour didn’t start to unnecessarily feel like answering.

“You didn’t have much of importance to share anyway, as far as I could tell. Even back at the lair, _oh wow_ , w-were you…”

Temple blinked again and leaned forward, back against his knees. His breaths were beginning to heave and his eyes grew wide at the shock of it, even as he forced himself to keep talking:

“…a-annoying as fuck. Y-you… You were.”

With his hold on his knees tightening, Temple continued to blink in rapid succession.

“I… was?”

Slowly, Temple nodded his head without letting his eyes fall off the armour. “Yeah…”

“D-dude, like you’re one to talk…” There was a wet snort, and Temple's smile twitched at hearing it.

Holding onto his knees with a grip that almost managed to make the plating creak, another bright flash painted the armour with a clashing palette of piercing blues and burning crimson. Temple held his gaze on the sight and continued talking, the words forced through clenched teeth:

“A-at least I’ve long since accepted what I am… But you, _you –!“_

 

* * *

 

The day Temple and Biff had recognised each other at opposing ends of Desert Gulch had been at the end of their first week of deployment. 

These opposing sides were eccentric and had known to regard each other as the enemy, at least to an extent Project Freelancer had deemed acceptable. The match should have been over in minutes, hours, _days_ ; they were never meant to be prolonged, not in a constrained arena and the soldiers carrying life ammunition, no matter how bad they might have been at using it.

The Project wasn’t about wasting time, which meant that the moment the conflict got properly started, one of the Freelancers would be sent over to deal with it – all in their own ways. The Blues and Reds weren’t meant to have the time to realise something might have been wrong with the location and the fact that they were facing other human soldiers, also using the exact same gear as them.

Simulation troopers weren’t meant to communicate. They were never meant to use their brains.

Desert Gulch had been burning hot and lethargic which had, at first, also made the place loud. It had felt like Temple had been the only one who had been all about getting the mission done, expecting to raise in ranks and be send to where he actually had been meaning to go.

Away from the heat and to fulfil his duty, to wherever Biff must have already been. That's what Temple had believed, and it had made him more determined than the rest of the troopers were.

It took one week for them to recognise each other. Temple had been the one to see Biff first.

Temple had tried to kill the Reds with the full intention of getting it done. He had aimed and taken the shot, with the full intention of not letting it get to him, with the full intention to _kill his best friend –_

The Red had stood there with his commanding officer yelling at him and the maroon one crumbling in the background and with last guy's weirdly nice but off-putting sense of music playing from somewhere deep within the base. For one long week, Biff had been nothing but one among many pointless people who hadn’t meant a thing to the now-Blue soldier.

Temple had been in a hurry. He had wanted to get out.

Temple had aimed and taken the shot, and it had fallen short. Again.

The Reds had ran for cover and Biff did too, his voice carrying over clear as day as he cursed.

The rifle had fallen to his side and Temple had blinked, blinked, blinked. He had always been disturbed by the idea of blood, the idea of your life practically seeping straight out of you if given the route to do so.

Biff had asked him how he could even consider joining a war.

Aliens don’t bleed red, Temple had said. Aliens aren’t people.

“Not all the soldiers are gonna make it out intact either, you know… What if _you_ get hit? Remember _last week_ when you cut yourself peeling a carrot? You gonna screech like that on the field?”

“Adrenaline is a thing.”

“Come on, Mark… I mean, you've never been the brightest, but that's just… _Wow_.”

Biff had looked green and Temple had been the same way, only doing his best to avoid the other’s eyes. Biff had cursed at him, suddenly, shook his head in disappointment and fury and whatever else that had been lost in there too, in that brief moment before he had agreed to sign up with him.

But it was the fear that had also been in his voice that Temple had heard after the gunshot rang clear, only a hundred times louder as it was ricochet back at him by the Gulch.

The rifle had fallen to the ground, and the sand formed a cloud that appeared to almost swallow it whole.

Temple struggled to pull the helmet off of his head, just in time too before he had thrown up. Buckey had screamed at him in disgust as he had jumped to get away from the spray, asking what the fuck his problem was, and Temple’s body had shook like frozen over – the heat of the desert quickly forgotten.

Temple had had the full intention to kill his best friend, and he wouldn’t have allowed himself to regret it if he had. He wouldn’t have known any better, the crimson seeping into the grains of sand a move he would have gladly taken to become the soldier he had thought he needed to be.

He had thought that taking the shot had been his only chance to get over his fears and move on. As it later turned out, with blood smeared all over a nearby wall instead, Temple would have never managed to do that.

But now, there was sand again.

The gateway flickered to life in front of him, forcing Temple to scramble to his feet. Turning away from the drill, the memories of two separate gunshots had been pulled from his memory, once more making him blind to everything else.

“T-that is…”

The crackling electricity reached for him in pulses, assembling the bright blue archway from ground up from energy escaping the drill. The sand had been the first and only thing he saw on the other side.

Temple took a step closer, unable to stop his hands from reaching forward as his index finger, ever so softly, brushed against the electric field around the door, as Loco had called it.

“Wait.”

Temple blinked, the gesture as useless as always but still necessary to at least attempt to push aside the emotions threatening to flood him at the hundreds upon hundreds of questions and ideas now crossing his mind. There was so much sand – _all that sand_ – and the familiar sight was something he had last seen not many hours ago at all.

But there was a difference here, the scenery not that of _now_.

Temple’s throat was squeezing shut, his breathing becoming more and more laboured as his hands shook and his vision swam. It felt less like panic, this time, the feeling of choking.

There was no living soul on that cliff in front of his eyes and it was still day, seeing how the Gulch was painted with the yellows of the sun above, contrasting so perfectly with the blue crackling of the darkened hall he stood alone in. There were no sounds from the other side either, but that didn’t rid Temple of the obvious that told him that what he was seeing was the past.

There were no chairs on the cliff, not those clean of sand or riddled with bullet holes. This scenery was from before Temple had ruined it all.

Loco had called it a door.

_A door –_

“Stop.”

There was orange armour glaring at him, its cracked gaze burning against Temple’s back. No matter how this doorway might have worked, it couldn’t erase the years of devotion and anger that had brought him here. He knew that.

Even if he managed to somehow be taken back in time, even if Temple could rid a version of himself driven to despair, even if he moved the pieces from the start and saved Biff, instead going to crush the UNSC for his now-gained knowledge of what their true nature was… The point still stood, just as clear as it had ever been  _\- and the viciously seething part of him, which he had long since attempted to squash, had no qualms about reminding him:_

Even if Temple did all that and more, it wouldn’t change the fact that Biff would still leave him.

 

* * *

 

Ten seconds had passed, then reaching closer to a minute. It felt like forever with how much had already passed through his brain, in the time he had stood still in front of the door.

Although it hadn’t been long at all, the situation got turned on its head just as instantly.

The door, the teleport, began to violently shake and tremble. The sand became blurry and there were screeching sounds echoing from the machine behind him, forcing Temple to spin around and tear his eyes off the hopeful, dreadful familiarity the distorted image of the two chairs had offered him.

And that’s when Temple’s illusion of everything being under his control was shattered for good. 

_“YA-YA-YA, T-T-TIME FOR SOME THIRD WISH M-M-MAGIC, BAAAABY, GUESS WHO'S HERE TO STEAL THE SHOW!”_

Temple stood there, his arms falling helplessly to his sides and his eyes growing wide enough to practically bulge right out of his skull.

“Y-you…” the words stumbled from his lips, his voice impossibly quiet. In understanding, Temple's eyes turned to the screen now flashing to life. “ _Andrews_ …”

_“G-G-GOT YOU GOOD, BITCH!”_

The AI saluted, _fucking_   _saluted,_ in a flash of glee and mocking indifference as he appeared in front of him. Temple could only stare, too out of it to argue after _everything of his_  having already been put in its rightful place and with no one else there for him to physically punish, for once.

It was Dylan _, it had to have been Dylan_ , standing by the machine and whispering to herself while Temple had watched from the shadows _like the fucking idiot he apparently was –_

The machine flashed, pulling Temple back to the reality for a second longer. His eyes began to sting. His arms shook. He wanted to reach forward and strangle the annoying pest ruining his day, _his everything –_ but throwing a tantrum wouldn’t help. He still had enough of his brain in working order to know at least that much.

He was so fucking tired, Temple realised as his body finally grew numb and his shoulders slouched. Despite that he began to take hurried steps forward and to the screen, even when he could already tell there was nothing he could do but wait and watch, not without any skills of his own to fight the AI's infestation with.

Almost curiously, Temple's eyes followed the lights up to the ceiling as he reached for the controls. Throughout this, his body fought to not collapse from under him in a strained scream.

The AI was just cackling in his expense.

_“H-H-HELL OF A SKIT, MY DUDE! SAYONARA AND SH–!”_

Nothing but a flash of more blinding light, strong enough to catch all of Temple’s senses and make him flinch back, almost falling on his back. The machine was thrown into overdrive.

_“O-OOH MAN –!“_

And then there came a pause in the AI’s screaming, the sound cutting short and not in a glitch. Temple’s eyes, slowly but still, turned back to the screen and caught the other’s almost surprised expression with one of his own.

 _“Well t-then”_ , the AI said in uncharacteristic calm, and its pixelated form appeared to slump in a way similar to Temple’s. It was clearly seeing something in the figures and graphs that Temple couldn’t even begin to guess the meaning of.

The AI snorted, but the gesture lacked all of its usual confidence.

_“F-f-fuck that plan then, I g-guess. Still done here, though!”_

Just as the AI disappeared without another look Temple's way, the radio attached to the drill turned on with a loud screech. There was a message playing and, as soon as the words began to register in his ears, Temple's body gave in to finally crumble to the floor.

Barely a sliver of the energy-made door was visible anymore when Temple's eyes searched the room, but he didn't pay attention to it. Instead his gaze stopped at the sight of the orange armour, now grinning at him in victory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limbo of no control, no progress, no improvement; a farewell including a wish for wellness, not always lacking of finality.


	4. Stumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Life lacks meaning and people are all about believing in bullshit to get over it, is what I’m saying.“

_“– SPACE COMMAND. ETA FIFTEEN MINUTES. IF THERE IS NO REPLY –“_

“H-how the fuck…” Shakily, Temple got back on his feet to step up to the radio, his hand hovering over the receiver Loco had practically melted together as a part of the drill. “The UNSC… What do they think they can…“

_"– GOAL IS TO DESTROY THE TARGET. POWERSURGES WITHIN THE AREA SHOW *static* SIGNS OF *static* DISRUPTIONS –“_

“Right.”

The AI had tried to do something, sure, but the real question was whether or not Dylan had had the time to let the UNSC know of her suspicions on how the drill worked; and be taken seriously for it, too.

_"- IF *static* THERE IS NO -"_

If so, it would actually make sense for the UNSC to go all out without asking questions first, to take their chances before the so-called bomb had time to set off.

_“– NO SURVIVORS –“_

“…of course.”

Temple shut the rest of the repeating message out and gathered himself. It took a moment to get his mind back online, but with all that was happening he could actually put together what the AI might have planned, and failed, to do before slipping right back out again.

The machine was still whirring as it had been earlier, but that was exactly the problem. Nothing had changed.

The sounds the machine was making weren’t changing in frequency anymore, and the lights had steadied into a certain brightness that continued to blind him with the disorienting flashes no longer in between. The ground was still shaking but Temple had already accustomed to the movement, and there was no kind of acceleration to indicate that the drill would be actually turning on any time soon.

_“– FOURTEEN *static* IF THERE IS NO –“_

Still, the AI hadn’t acted like the plan had been to simply stall the process of the drill, and its disappearance didn’t seem intentional either – unless it was all a bluff for the sake of drama, which Temple would have easily bought at any other time thanks to his own, personal preferences.

But now, Temple had to deny the possibility of the latter simply because of a gut feeling telling him that there was something here that was out of both his and the AI’s control, as much as he hated to admit it. Otherwise the AI wouldn't have let him hear the message, giving him the awareness of what was coming next.

The warnings lights hadn’t turned off and something would have to give in soon with the machine continuing to shake to its core, Temple thought with a tight swallow. And with that being the case, it didn’t necessarily mean the drill would be taking the UNSC, or the planet, out with it like he had originally planned – _it could just be him_.

With time literally running out on him and counted out loud, Temple swirled his head around to further search the space. He saw the last of the time-door begin to disappear as the machinery that had made it settled to its current state, as if trying to on purpose steal away the shred of comfort it offered him.

That route was still out of question with Temple denying himself the right to even consider that as his 'escape', even as the last of the sand began to leave his view when he stared past the blue electricity it was framed by. It was time to assess his other options, but he didn’t quite know how.

_“– UNITED NATIONS *static* COMMAND –“_

At the other end of the room, the armour watched his every move with its unnerving lack of an expression. Temple wanted to run over and break it into pieces.

This was all its fault.

The fucking armour was the reason he was even here; it was the distraction that had caught him twice, thrice, and made Temple’s calm and calculations fall apart; it had lead him here, in a bombing range, with a drill that didn’t work; couldn’t be stabilised; couldn’t be used, not until it chose to turn on on its own.

_Orange, useless soldiers that did nothing but ruin his life –_

Temple didn’t know what to do. And there was only one person he could ask for an opinion.

With stumbling steps, Temple turned around and allowed his body a second to stop in its increase of panic. The armour was in a better position than he was, he thought as he took the first step needed to take him towards its ever-calm, frozen presence.

_“– POWERSURGES *static* AREA SHOW –“_

As Temple approached, the armour lifted a shaking hand to wave at him - or to gesture him to back off, maybe - but Temple didn’t care as he took his place to tower in front of it. There was a brief moment of only the machine’s continuous screeching and the message still playing on repeat, but Temple was quick to not waste more of his lasting minutes.

Temple’s voice came out barely above a whisper when he said the name:

“Biff…”

“…still call me that, huh.”

Reflexively, Temple felt his fists clench. Apparently the other couldn't stop pointing out the issues Temple had with their first names, not even here of all places.

“Yeah, well…” Temple started, not looking directly at the armour as he did. “Life’s pretty fucked so you might as well get used to that much at least.” He tried his best to not grit his teeth, the message on the radio repeating on and on in the background with the ear-piercing static to go along with it.

“Biff”, Temple repeated, almost desperately despite his wish to come across as still in control of at least his words. If that’s all he had, he wanted to keep it.

“Yeah? Spit it out already.”

He didn't last for long, though; the acknowledgment was all it took for Temple's body to almost feel like it was doubling over. He opened his mouth, to practically plead his best friend:

“What, _what the fuck_ , am I supposed to do!?”

With another involuntary movement, Temple’s hands reached for his hair, flying up and taking a hold of the short strands there. His grip was tight and he could feel some of the hair coming loose, but he didn’t mind the pain it caused him.

Slowly, as if steadying himself, Temple let his chin drop to glare down at the armour that didn’t make an attempt to answer or move from its spot against the wall. The outburst hadn't shaken it.

Temple’s glare grew heavier with each second it took for the armour to come up with an answer.

_Click_

_Click_

_Click_

Ignoring the mood, the armour tapped a finger to its knee and then, with a shaking hand, dropped the hand on the floor for more support. With a hauntingly slow halt, the helmet moved and looked up, finally directing its broken visor at Temple.

“It’s all bullshit, sure, but you did a lot of work to get even this far”, Biff said, and his voice was unreadable. “It’ll be over the moment UNSC gets here, so…”

“Better stay calm?” Temple asked with a breathless scoff that the armour answered to with another tilt of its head.

“Sounds like a plan?”

“R-right…” Temple let out yet another shaky breath that seemed to lack any air, not offering him any relief. Slowly still, he lifted his left hand and tried to cover for the way it was lightly shaking as he went to rub at his too dry eyes. “Right.”

“Then… You’re done freaking out on me?”

There was a strangled laugh as Temple nodded his head, his fingers running up to his forehead and adding a little pressure there. “Sure.”

The armour seemed to think for a second, glancing down at the floor and at something that wasn’t there, before cocking its head back.

“You could have gotten me a chair, you know. The pose isn’t exactly my favourite…”

Temple allowed his hand to drop and the rest of his body followed soon after, collapsing onto his knees in front of the bloodied, orange shadow that always waited for him there.

The pose wasn’t Temple’s favourite either, but it is what had brought them this far.

“…You think?”

“You changed your plans big time just to have me here, so… Could have been _a_ _little_ more thoughtful”, Biff replied almost offhandedly. The armour leaned back in a way that reminded Temple of a stop motion puppet, arms splayed uncomfortably at its sides.

“…what a strategic mind, exactly what I’ve been… missing out on…” Temple mumbled and his lip twitched into a small, bitter smile. “If you had been helping me out with this from the start, you would have no doubt stopped me from fucking it up… Chairs and all…”

“Mark.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

It worked for a minute.

Ignoring the use of his name, Temple turned to stare back at the now, for some reason, smoking machine that showed no other sign of being any closer to doing anything except break apart. Next to him, the armour was unmoving, probably still waiting for the moment when one of their usual conversations would come up again. They always did.

This moment wasn’t an exception, with Temple quick to give up with yet another long breath released through his teeth. He looked at the armour that had already turned its cracked visor to him in expectation, chin lifted to prompt the Blue to speak.

“I want to, need to, finish this. There’s still a chance, and this couldn't have all been for nothing! Yeah, I fucked up, _the delay fucked it all up_ , but… You…”

“You know you’re a possessive asshole, right?”

Temple stared at the armour for a second, his mouth shutting in a sharp movement and his expression dropping blank. For a second, he expected the armour to say more to explain itself – but there was nothing to be said, apparently.

“Wouldn’t come as a surprise, really…?” Temple noted with a snort, uncomfortably so. “But no. I am not.”

The armour shrugged, and the motion was disconcerting with the position it had been placed in by him. Temple glared at it and continued, taking a hold of whatever confidence he could muster:

“I am doing this for you. So.”

“Nah… You’re doing this all for yourself, man”, Biff immediately replied, either not noticing the way Temple's jaw had clenched or choosing to ignore it. The orange armour leaned forward to try to catch Temple’s eyes with its bloodied visor. “You just want to blame it on the dead guy, which, by the way, isn’t a new development.”

“And what about it, even if I was?!” Temple snapped, his shoulders squared. The armour remained silent and seemed to think a little more over how to answer. There was a twitch to the helmet before Biff said:

“Mark… This isn’t how the conversation would go.”

“…what conversation?”

His words came out quiet, and Temple knew they could never reach Biff anyway. And it was hardly a question worth asking.

“This, you, _me_ ", Biff said, not leaving Temple to wait for long. "What? Even here, do you really think I would say any of this shit? Was the same way back at the Gulch… We had a million conversations, even by the time I was already dead and buried:

“ _I can’t afford to desert the military so we can’t just, you know, steal a ship to get the hell out.”_

“That's…”

“What I said?”

Temple scoffed at Biff's quick reply and crossed his arms, the words ringing familiar in his ears. He pulled the hold he had of himself a little tighter as he, again, forced his breaths to remain even, counting each of them.

“You did. You said it. You wanted me to fucking shoot you, even when you knew I could _never do that –!”_

“Not the same conversation, but alright? You want me to defend myself, huh, can do: I was in a hurry, I had to get out, and I trusted you to want to help me – guilt trip or not. And the best part is you actually know as much, since otherwise we - _you?_ \- wouldn't even be having this talk right now”, Biff chuckled, the sound lacking of emotion.

Temple's mouth ran dry and the orange shadow took the time to continue speaking for him:

“I signed up _for you_ , even when I knew it wasn’t going to work out… And I wanted to get you out, too, but you were dead-set on the idea of being a soldier, and that you could still get a fucking parade or some shit by the end of it. _So_.”

Temple didn’t look at the armour, putting his everything into ignoring Biff’s sudden, fake cheer. He blocked the words out.

“I… I wanted to leave the Gulch, though”, Temple said in a weak attempt to take over the argument.

The armour shook its head. Reaching out a hand towards Temple, it appeared to glance the other way to give the Blue a moment to release his death grip around his middle and catch yet another breath, just before the orange-plated glove landed heavily on his shoulder and made it hitch again.

“You didn’t; not the way I did. At the Gulch you weren't even in any real danger of getting killed for your title, so you were  _fine_. But I wasn’t. Unlike you, I actually had someone waiting for me back home and no time for a pointless standstill… You want me to feel sorry for that, too, I guess?"

The words were followed with an expectant hum, insulting in how it made Temple’s lips tremble as he tried to hold back whatever scream was building up in his throat. The crack on the orange visor made it look like it was smirking at him again, and there was still dried blood on Temple’s gloves and at his feet, too, he realised as he actually looked down at his shaking palms.

"You know those movies where the villain speaks like a poet and the hero has no clue what’s happening, just mowing down hundreds upon hundreds of faceless lackeys that ate up their leader’s words?”

Temple looked up in fear, sharply turning his full attention back to the armour that still clung to him.

“No. Come on, Biff, it doesn’t matter what I, _you,_ said –!”

“Ever thought why those lackeys were fine with dying for something that never made a difference in their lives, beyond literally ending them? There should always be a reason beyond lazy writing, I think.”

Biff’s hand on Temple’s shoulder felt like it was made out of lead, pushing him down and breaking him into pieces. Temple flinched in his hold and tried to tear his eyes away from the armour's blank stare.

But the effort was in vain, with the orange visor held steady in front of Temple’s eyes.

“You said that,” Temple couldn’t even blink as he was forced to defend his memories. “I know –!“

“They need a reason to feel anger – or any one emotion, really, to give them some illusion of worth – and someone to direct it all at”, Biff was quick to interrupt, with more words taken straight from Temple’s hazy memories. He wasn’t about to lose his chances to force the explanation on his friend, not now that he had gotten Temple's full attention for the first time since before his death.

“Mark… I don’t talk like that. But you do.”

Temple shook his head. “Y-you did say all that, it was right before the –!“

Biff sighed, and Temple’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click at hearing the pity there.

“Life lacks meaning and people are all about believing in bullshit to get over it, is what I’m saying. And that’s all you’ve ever done”, Biff said, and the armour's hand finally dropped from Temple's shoulder on to the floor.

Although Biff's voice had been closer to sadness than any other emotion, the grin of the visor was present even when half-hidden by the shadows that began to once again swallow them; the bulbs of the drill were starting to break one by one, with a shattering of glass hitting the floor.

“Biff…” Temple managed to speak out, his voice quiet and cracking. “W-what the fuck? You, _the UNSC –!”_

“I don’t speak like that”, Biff repeated in calm, ignoring the argument. “I’m the one who questioned things, and you were the one fine waiting it all out; that’s the actual talk we had, when I asked you to shoot me. The rest? You’re just… You’ve been rewriting everything to better suit your side of the story.”

Slowly, the orange visor turned back to Temple, Biff's next words pointed:

"This is obviously all about your fucking possessive as fuck ideal of what you couldn’t understand was _just who you are_ \- and what happened to me was the convenient scapegoat for you to get started with. Or that's how you think, on some level at least, seeing you're having this conversation with yourself minutes before being taken out by the UNSC of all people. Karma's a bitch.”

There was a pause with Temple simply staring at Biff’s already lifeless form, slumped back. In the end, he could do nothing but snort, the sound broken and small.

“…You’re not real”, Temple said, and the only reply he got from the orange, unmoving armour in front of him was silence. “You’re already dead.”

With trembling hands, Temple reached forward and pushed against the armour’s shoulder, knocking it over with very little difficulty. There was a heavy thud and Temple tried, he really did, to smirk at the sight of the orange shell crumbling to the floor once more.

Temple chuckled. “I… _You_ don’t… don’t know what you’re talking… about…”

As if in reply, the armour let out a pained grunt, immediately getting Temple to scramble away from it with a loud screech. But his escape was cut short by a hand landing on his shoulder, making his breathing come to a complete stop as well.

Behind Temple’s back, a third presence flickered to existence.

_“– COMMAND. ETA NINE MINUTES. IF THERE IS NO –“_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limbo of no control, no progress, no improvement; facing an obstacle of your own making and faltering at its feet.
> 
> \--
> 
> If you haven’t read one of the previous oneshots, "Stumble", doing so now might be helpful? As a tag, canon compliant can be taken in many ways. Depends on whose head you happen to be in and for what end.


	5. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Even if it could be done, I would not know how.“

The moment Dexter Grif’s blood had begun to spread through the cracks on the floor, it had been over for him. He had done his part.

It all started some hours earlier, when he first entered the undersea lair. Already when faced with the armour of a ghost the other Reds and Blues had chosen over him, Grif had thought it to be something of a sign – and not a kind one. There had been no other way to describe seeing someone so completely _wrong_ stand in the way of his role as the hero, with every inch of the Blue-visor asshole screaming how badly he wanted the opposing orange out of his life.

Apparently, Temple hadn’t been the only one with that wish and a part of Grif had come to even appreciate the consistency. Made it easier to know what to expect from everyone as well as himself, and then see it to the end.

It had made it easier to act calm.

As planned by Locus, Temple hadn’t taken either him or the rescue seriously, but there had been something about him that had stuck to Grif’s mind. Down in the lair and left behind bars with the others, unconsciously maybe but still, he had realised he wouldn’t mind testing a theory if he ever got to face Temple all over again; which did happen, not long after.

There was a reason for the way it had all gone down, and only one way it could be described -

Grif hadn’t failed.

Not entirely, anyway.

 

* * *

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure what he should have expected from his current mission, but with the years of experience behind him he knew better than to take it for granted anyway. Be prepared for everything, especially with these fools – that much and more he would have to be able to handle.

On his way to land, he had caught the message the UNSC was sending out and knew he barely had any time to scout the area. The UNSC wasn’t taking any chances with whatever had scared them to act so suddenly, but even if the military had chosen a more hands-on approach he would not have been interested to stick around for long enough to be a part of it.

His motive was clear: It didn’t matter who else might have still been on that island. They were all done for, if they didn’t retreat immediately with or without the help he was willing to offer.

Entering the base, he saw a few, scattered simulation troopers run around in an attempt to make their escape. He was immediately pleased he had taken care to hide his own ship from them, by the back entrance.

_"– GOAL IS TO DESTROY THE *static* POWERSURGES WITHIN THE AREA SHOW *static* DISRUPTIONS –“_

In a sense, still, he was surprised to even hear the UNSC’s message play over and over through every speaker in the building while the leftover troopers ran in panic to the ships they also had hidden away somewhere, he hoped. To be given this chance, even with the UNSC sure to be on their way over to put the place on lockdown as soon as the damage was done, was already more than he would have expected them to be given.

But he was glad he didn’t need to play the role of a messenger to get the evacuation started, instead slipping past the fleeing forms and further into the building to see things through.

Following the main corridor led him down an almost direct path to the middle of the building, which he was able to run through in only a few minutes. The closer he got, he took note of the complete lack of human voices; with each step taken, the space was filled with the sounds of the speakers and something else, louder and much more distracting.

The entire island was shaking beneath his feet, a low rumbling mixing with the high-pitched screeches of the machine he was quickly approaching.

He had expected to find the Reds and Blues attempting to do something about it, but there appeared be no one left to fight whatever was happening here. It left him nothing to work with but the idea to get in, check the scene with the time he still had, and then take his ship to follow the example of the already fleeing troopers.

The plan was simple, and he was going to stick to it – even when the first complications occurred.

Running through the wide-open doorway that led him to a mess of blue hues and flashes of electricity dancing dangerously across the air, he found something that made him slow in his steps. Thankfully, the large machine covered any sounds he might have made more than well.

The scene gave an answer to what was still needed of him but, as he turned to approach, he found himself stalling in his steps again. A part of him felt like he was disturbing a tomb – something here had given in and shattered, in a way he wasn't fully equipped to deal with.

“–this isn’t… this isn’t about me… S-so don’t think for a second you can… drag me down with _you_ …”

Blue armour mumbling with a cracked voice, hunched over the familiar orange. He heard a snort from the man – Temple, he was quick to recognise him as – and the sound was small, not something he would have expected to hear from him even now, somehow.

“…You’re not real”, Temple said next, still facing the orange, unmoving and bloodied armour, and not noticing the quiet footfall approach him. “Y-you’re already dead.”

With trembling hands, Temple reached forward and pushed against the armour’s shoulder, knocking it over with very little difficulty. There was a heavy thud, loud even through the other sounds swallowing the room - his mind had already more than blocked everything else out, to focus only on the scene before him.

“You don’t… don’t know what you’re talking… about…”

As if in reply, the armour let out a pained grunt, immediately getting Temple to let out a screech and scramble backwards – and, consequently, straight towards his feet. Temple’s escape was cut short when he dropped his hand heavily on the Blue’s shoulder to catch him then and there, making both Temple’s breathing and his body come to a complete stop.

_“– COMMAND. ETA NINE MINUTES. IF THERE IS NO –“_

Whatever fear or feelings of anger fueled him, they made Temple quick to react.

He wasn’t prepared for the strength with which Temple used his feet to push back in the split-second that had followed their standstill, forcefully ripping his shoulder free from his grip and jumping forward on all fours. As if not wearing armour at all, Temple leaped up to the wall right by the crumbled body and the already dried blood.

He spun his head around, his torso pressed up against the wall almost comically as he crouched on the floor, wide eyed as he tried to recognise him, _the intruder_.

Temple wasn’t wearing a helmet – his hair was light brown and cut in uneven, messed up strands - and the shadows under his eyes looked more like bruises, beyond painful, in the dark blue lighting. But the most disturbing part of his look really were the eyes, having grown too wide, his pupils blown, and quickly becoming focused on him, the threat. Temple visibly squared his jaw and grit his teeth, letting out an audible hiss of breath.

Temple steadied himself against the wall and slowly stood up as if in preparation. He looked ready to attack without a weapon in reach, to take any attempt given to tear his hands into his armour; no motive beyond his presence needed, apparently.

_“– PREPARE TO *static* SURVIVORS –“_

From what he had walked in on, he could gather the situation to be one he would gain nothing by attempting to overcomplicate. The new goal matched his plan: take out the almost feral looking Blue and drag the orange soldier safely out of the building.

He had to work fast.

 

* * *

 

“Stop.”

The armoured stranger stood his ground all too close, standing tall with his form still flickering while Temple began to push himself further away from the wall. The man’s voice was a clear order that Temple was having a hard time ignoring – but he did, he had to, and in another instant the two of them broke into a sprint.

One to stop the other.

Temple had no clear motivation behind his actions, having no fucking clue who this guy was and what he wanted, and only knowing he had to get rid of him and fast – he had to protect what he had left, to get back his control of the room and clear his head before it was already too late.

He had no weapons at hand but thankfully he could see the larger man wasn’t pointing any his way either. Beyond that, he didn’t really have the time to even try to figure out what the strategy behind his first attack could have been before the man had already stepped out of his way, avoiding Temple’s flailing punch with ease and striking him to the back of his head.

Rather than knocking him straight off his feet, the blow made Temple stumble forward before falling on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. His ears were ringing.

A few more seconds passed before Temple's brain kicked back online, only for him to realise he didn’t have his helmet on when the pain began to travel through his skull. He let out a curse and his vision started to swim, struggling to get back on his feet. If the strike with the armoured glove had been just a little stronger, it could have been the end of him then and there -

Shaking his head to clear his spotted vision, he glanced over his shoulder to see if the man was planning to finish him off.

All Temple could see was green, orange and blue. The glow was unmistakable, belonging to a type of healing unit.

Temple’s face split into a grin at the sight, a laugh rippling through his lungs as he guffawed, his arms giving out completely and dropping him to lie down on the freezing, cement floor.

“Seriously… S-seriously, you’re here for _that_ thing…”

The helmet of the stranger twitched, only slightly, to show he had heard the words through the broken cackles barely passing Temple’s throat. Temple coughed, tears in his eyes as he tried to calm down enough to attempt to move again.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Temple sneered as he managed to get back up on his knees, still shaking his head to steer clear of whatever hysterics were about to take him over. He couldn’t stop chuckling though, even when he felt the sound continue to tear at his lungs and throat.

 

* * *

 

Locus didn’t say anything at first, his priorities being the unit and the countdown he was under.

Quickly glancing Temple’s way to see what he was working with, Locus could immediately tell the man was planning to attack him again. There was something almost protective in the way the too widely grinning Blue’s eyes locked on to the armour on the floor, instead of Locus who was now standing in his way.

“What am I too late for?” Locus had to force the question out, buying his own seconds to ensure the unit worked before the man could lunge his way. The grey eyes had sunk deep into Temple’s pale face and looked lifeless, barely even flickering up to seemingly take him in for the first time.

Temple was obviously angry just looking at him, and unable to hold it in. He obviously wanted Locus not only gone but dead.

“You know…” Temple snorted again, rising to his feet all too slowly to look natural. Almost offhandedly, he gestured at the unit Locus was holding. “Dead things don’t come back.”

The orange armour was moving, barely but still, with Grif’s fingers twitching against the cracked floor. Taking in the emotion Temple emitted, and the heavy mix of loathing and glee he had used to spit out his words, another thing became obvious:

Temple wasn’t faking it, he honestly didn’t know. He couldn’t see it.

Temple wasn’t trying to keep Locus away from Grif, so to speak – he didn’t even know the Red was still alive. And seeing how the UNSC’s message had already long since reached Temple’s ears and he was still here, not trying to run like the rest of his men were, the long-lost simulation trooper clearly wasn’t in it to fight for his own life either.

Calling it a tomb had been more fitting than he had expected, Locus thought as he stood up to face the Blue. What he had interrupted must have been disturbingly close to Temple attempting to live up to his name.

 

* * *

 

When it came to combat skill, Temple had lost long before Locus had even entered the building.

Although Locus did find himself preferring distance as the more efficient option, there was no challenge he could have found here. If Temple was in any part trained for what he was attempting to do, he was clearly not thinking straight about how to make it work beyond the clear-cut idea _to attack_.

Locus didn’t have the time push him around only to have the man spring up to his feet again like some type of a cat, with Temple using his shorter frame and lighter armour to try to catch him off guard. With a shift move, he avoided Temple’s next strike and reused his earlier method, this time targeting the side of his target’s head to hit him on the ground, hard enough to ensure the Blue wouldn’t be getting up again for as long as he still needed to be done here:

Locus wasn’t planning to kill anyone, and he had no plans to leave Temple behind either if the man decided to follow him out on his own. The Blue had his own actions left to face, and he would have preferred to not let him run from that.

With Temple back on the floor and Grif under the influence of the healing unit, Locus hurried to gather what he could and get moving. From behind him, he heard the groan of Temple gasping for breath and attempt to curl into a ball, most likely close to being concussed at this point.

“C-could be the end of the fucking world and you, y-you…”

His voice was barely audible, but it was enough for Locus to glance back at him again; at Temple and the machine that efficiently covered up not just most of the sounds in the room but the colours of it as well. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and he had to agree with the UNSC’s plan being the most sensible with the way the entire island seemed to be shaking to its gore at the force of the contraption.

“I am not trying to stop it”, Locus grunted, turning back to Grif. “Even if it could be done, I would not know how.“

If there was no turning the machine off, it would have to be destroyed – and that would simply have to be enough to stop it from doing whatever it had been built for.

“We need to go. Now.”

 

* * *

 

Surprised and still wondering what the fuck was going on, Temple attempted to get up, doing his best to ignore the blood and bruises and the shaking of his hands as he pushed against the floor and failed over and over again. Thinking rationally was no longer his forte, if it ever had been, but Temple steadied his breathing to try his best.

The green armoured soldier was telling Temple to get out of the building. But, he clearly wasn’t bothered by Temple’s presence as much as the orange armour’s, and would most likely have no problem leaving him behind if he either chose not to follow along on his own or proved unable to do so with his injuries.

Considering his options, he couldn't come up with a good reason to get up only to waste the man’s time to get him and the armour to stay behind until the end of the countdown. Not that Temple was delusional enough to think he would manage to do that even if he tried.

Let the stranger have _Grif’s_ armour, let him leave; Temple attempted to hide the smirk still tucking at his lips.

There was still a chance he could come out victorious, even if he didn’t know how to get the machine to work with his own hands. The UNSC was just hoping for everything to pass with one, solid explosion but they didn’t know it would for sure.

If the drill was breaking and all that energy flickering behind him had to have some place to go, and if it really could function as a world destroying bomb as he had been told, then _the UNSC disturbing the stability it had settled into could very well be exactly what was needed to set it off –_

Temple could do nothing but wait and see – and, if he stayed, he wouldn’t be alive to know what was going to happen, or have a way to strike again even if the machine failed. He couldn't just let the years spent on the promise of a conclusion go to waste by dying before his time, now could he. 

_“– ETA *static* MINUTES –“_

“…if I come with you?”

“You will live”, the man replied and again tilted his head back to look at Temple for a second, his helmet hiding whatever expression he might have been wearing although it was easy to imagine it matching his deadpan voice. He had secured the orange armour and began to hurriedly carry it off with him, leaving Temple to stare after the bright colour escaping him –

On some level, Temple did know the effect the armour had on him was irrational, _insane –_

It wasn't really a matter of choice anymore, Temple thought with a hitch to his breath and his eyes stinging with emotion he couldn’t understand as he tore his eyes off the armour, got up to his feet and straightened with arms hugging his middle. With the man and the armour disappearing from his view, Temple took his first steps to follow after them.

Struggling to gain some speed, he turned his eyes to the flickering electricity there still should have, could have, been building up by the machine in the form of a second doorway.

Temple could imagine it waiting for him in the depths of the shadows, some shimmer of the sand always offering him another way out if only he were to let himself take it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limbo of no control, no progress, no improvement; allowing the one under your control to take their chances with your compassion.


	6. Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He could be anywhere by now.”

“ _Psst_ … _Biff_ …”

There was a moment with the orange visor just staring at him, the soldier having snapped his head Temple’s way when he heard the whisper. His rifle was raised, his shoulders squared and he looked about ready to bolt, but some recognition seemed to be settling in as he took in the voice that had called for him.

In shock more than anything else, Biff let his weapon drop. His fingers twitched at the lack of anything to hold on to.

“…M-Mark?”

“ _Temple_ ”, he hissed back and gestured for the flabbergasted Red/orange to follow after him, a step away from the cliff so no one else in the Gulch could see them talking. A broken chuckle passed through Temple's lips before he spluttered out, excited and much more desperate than he could have ever been prepared to feel: “But yes, yeah!  _It’s me!_ ”

“W-what the…“ Biff’s steps were slow and he gestured at Temple with his still trembling hands, understandably confused at seeing him. “Why are you…?”

“Here?” Temple finished for his friend and then shrugged, his grin widening behind the visor as Biff finally stepped within his reach. As if by instinct, he pulled Biff in for a hug that wasn’t the most comfortable with them both wearing their armour, but it was still so much better than nothing.

Biff was all intact and Temple would make sure no one would get the chance to take a shot at him again. Not now, not ever, and especially not Temple himself.

“I sort of”, Biff began with his voice struggling to be heard, hugging back with force, “didn’t think I’d ever see you again? Dude, what the fuck… What the fuck… _You’re a Blue?”_

“Before you ask, I have no idea what's going on”, Temple said with a snort and stepped back, the two of them staring at each other’s visors.

Biff began to shake his head, completely out of it. “Why the fuck are we here then, seriously… If you’re Blue and I’m not –”

Temple laughed, clinging onto Biff’s shoulders and shaking him to get rid of the thoughts distracting the man from the only thing that mattered, their reunion. The rest could wait, they would have time.

”Man, who cares?! I’m just so fucking glad to have you here with me!”

 

* * *

* * *

 

“The UNSC bombed the base the Blues and Reds had on Earth, and the _‘_ time machine’ was taken care of along with it, I’ve heard… No sign of the impact having influenced anything outside the immediate area, which is now quarantined for further research. There is also an ongoing hunt for the run-away simulation troopers, around ten of which have been imprisoned so far -"

A glance her way, very professional in the way it held her gaze.

"None that we know.”

Dylan slumped back and felt another wave of nausea rush through her, not even the sense of relief she had also felt at the words enough to steer her clear of the shock that followed. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious but she had woken up in fear, immediately demanding answers from everyone around her while also trying - _and failing, she so did fail_ \- to tap into her usual calm.

Finding herself on Chorus and with Doctor Grey looming over her form would get anyone to freak out, Dylan had ensured herself after she had managed to stop her initial screaming. It was especially true when you have been knocked out with the promise that Earth would be long gone by the time you woke up again, if ever.

But Kimball wasn't lying, which meant that Earth was still somewhere out there. Intact, unlike Temple's base and that damned machine.

It was hard to come to terms with, not having been there herself.

Dylan had left VIC to stall or break the bomb, to attempt to do anything about it really, but there had been no confirmation if they had succeeded after Gene had taken her, the Reds, and the Blues who knows where. Far away from the planet and Temple’s plans, completely separated from the rest of reality, Gene had had no interest to either see for himself or tell them if Temple had succeeded.

Dylan had the loose sense to say that days must have had passed since then, maybe even weeks. Grey had told her, she was sure, but a part of her still wanted to deny the passage of time if nothing else.

Being alive, now, only to hear Temple’s plan had been stopped by the UNSC of all people, _and how,_  was more than Dylan could have asked for– and it was all thanks to the failure that was Gene, unable to kill her. With that in mind, she would not allow herself to feel bad for the relief there still was, at all the lives saved through her and the team's actions.

Earth being still intact was much more than just “excellent news”, but…

Vanessa Kimball was standing by her hospital bed and clearly holding something back, and Dylan wasn’t so sure she wanted to hear what that was. Still, _not knowing_ wasn't a state she had ever been comfortable in, either.

“How are the others?” Dylan asked, the part of her ready to ask the questions that needed to be answered more determined than the rest of her could ever be. She had gotten the Reds and Blues involved in this, partially so at least, and there must have been so many other, better, ways for everything to have played out than what had ended up happening.

Other than the outcome the UNSC has secured on Earth, Dylan didn’t know what exactly had happened to any of the others Gene had taken with him. After she had found a way to exit the game Gene had prepared for them, only to collapse, there had been nothing more she could have done for them.

Kimball crossed her arms and nodded, solemnly but with a small smile still managing to tug rather grotesquely at her lip. It didn't suit her.

“Agents Washington and Carolina are both in induced rest, doctor’s orders, and they will recover. Most of the others brought in with you are still hospitalized as well, and some… some are around.”

Dylan frowned.

Kimball would never omit information that way. She wouldn’t avoid hard facts unless, perhaps, she found it truly difficult to hear them repeated herself. Dylan thought she knew as much about the woman, based on their brief meeting and research alone, and it was difficult to imagine what could have been enough to push the President of Chorus to be personally here, standing in silence.

Dylan's hands curled into fists as she pressed on:

“The Reds…?”

“Sarge is here, somewhere”, Kimball replied, a little too quickly. “As you can guess, he is not doing too well. He… was not injured, but that might have made it worse for him to process what happened to the rest of his team. And, I've been told, you already know almost as much about that as I do.”

The answer was left open-ended, but already said more than enough.

Dylan closed her eyes and began to mumble to herself, forcing the words out to clear her head and face the facts: “Temple… He was telling the truth, then…” She clenched her hands tighter and thought back to the way the man in question had snapped at them while he stood in front the drill, the laughter and his obvious anger mixing up to something uncontrollable. “Or not. Maybe not. Still hard to tell with him.”

Dylan took a breath.

“I saw no sign of Grif after I escaped, although Temple did tell us we would find out what happened to him if we were to survive… In that, his absence might be answer enough, but I also doubt Temple had any idea what Gene had planned for us… And then, then there is Gene and what he said. Carolina and Doc were taken care of, _there_ , not participating in the ‘game’ but still alive… No sign of Simmons, and Gene was adamant about having killed him, back at the base.”

Dylan looked steadily up at Kimball who was nodding along with her words. She wasn't asking Dylan to elaborate either, as if now wasn't the time.

And maybe it wasn't. It didn't have to be.

Dylan and the others involved in the fight would soon have to give their full statements on the events that had taken place both before and after Temple had sent them away. But even then, there was no way to know what exactly had transpired on Earth, in the hour before the UNSC had blown the drill, and the entire island it had stood on, into pieces.

Temple had lost and no one had been there to see how it had happened, was the assumption everyone had come to for now. Dylan hoped them to be proven wrong, on the latter part and not the former. 

She already knew she would have to try to find the answers; someone, who could give them to her. That was Dylan's job.

“And no one knows what happened to Temple”, Kimball stated after a moment. She was thinking through the same questions as Dylan, tapping a finger against her bicep in a steady rhythm that Dylan had trouble looking away from, her brain struggling to pick up the speed.

“Yes”, Dylan replied and slowly leaned back on her bed, her ribs aching at the little movement. Shaking her head in a mix of grief and annoyance, she closed her eyes. “He could be anywhere by now… That, or he’s just dead.”

“And I suppose no one would complain if it were to be that simple… But if not, there are a lot of people here alone who would love to hunt him down”, Kimball said. The light, disapproving edge her voice had at the implication was that of a leader not approving of acts of revenge, and not that of a friend's. It was obvious she was just as angry about everything that had happened as was everyone who knew the Reds and Blues, which really did translate to more than the entire population of Chorus.

Dylan snorted, the sound lacking any humour, and kept her eyes tightly shut when she smirked.

“How Temple could have lived with the irony in that, I don’t even want to know…”

 

* * *

* * *

 

_“This thing you’ve got going on here…”_

“Hmh. You have something to say about it? Want to mock me a little more?”

_“You’re putting a lot of effort into it.”_

“ _…_ ’course I am, can't quit now. How else is anyone ever getting anywhere in life, and I've still got time.”

_“I wouldn’t call this living exactly, but sure. Mh-hmm.”_

“You know what I mean so shut it already! What I did before, that obviously didn't work out for us, so _–_ “

_“M-man, we've been over this; keep me out of it and be honest with yourself already! T-that's the step you should be taking next -"_

“…Stop laughing at me.”

_“Tryin’–”_

“Try harder!”

_“H-hush…”_

“W-wh- you’re shushing _me_ , seriously?!”

_“You don’t want him to come back and find you rambling to yourself while you're supposed to be cleani–“_

“– I don’t. Fuck! Y-you, you're just so _…_ My motives? You want me to think about my motives? Okay, sure, they've changed. They have, you're right! With you, I signed up to fight in a war because I wanted to - and maybe I wanted the glory of it, too; who didn't! And now, now I want to do this. Not my face on the front of some paper, but _…_  I want to do _this_. Happy?”

_“Ehh… A step in the right direction, I guess. But, effort or not, you’re not getting anywhere fast if you keep sucking as bad as you have for much longer. You got to know that.”_

“…”

_“Get pissed at me if you want, Mark, just giving you friendly, honest advice here – can’t blame me for that, now can you?”_

“Like you ever did any better than me -!”

_“Like I wanted to be doing any better than you at anything. What about the UNSC? What do you think I was supposed to gain if you were not getting in and they had picked me instead? No thanks.”_

“…again with this?”

_"You're not a huge fan of listening."_

"I, I am listening now! Not like I have a _fucking choice -_ "

_“You’re not the only one who put in the effort! While you always attempt to ace it, and fail by default, I was just more focused on systematically sucking at all that military bullshit! You know, to keep to your level."_

"Biff -"

 _"I was only there because of you, and you better believe I worked fucking hard so that I wasn't gonna be the one left behind in case they chose to send you home like you deserved. And n_ _ow? Nothing's changed. I'm back to putting in the effort to stick by you, dead or not, like you always expected me to be_ _. Because_ _you deserve to have me here._

_"And I'm not going anywhere.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limbo of no control, no progress, no improvement; there isn't an end, there was no beginning.


End file.
